


In Cups of Coffee

by Idday



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Break Up, Established Relationship, Getting Back Together, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-12
Updated: 2014-08-12
Packaged: 2018-02-12 19:42:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2122323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Idday/pseuds/Idday
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Stiles breaks up with Derek on a Tuesday. </p><p>It's the hardest thing he's ever had to do, and he wants to get it done as soon as possible so he can go burrow into his self-hatred and stay there."</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Cups of Coffee

**Author's Note:**

> No major warnings that I can think of! Canon level violence, some mentioned sexual stuff, but nothing too explicit, I don't think. The underage tag is present because Stiles is like seventeen, which is underage in California, and it's mentioned like once, but it's not a major plot point at all.
> 
> Let me know if I've missed a major tag that you think I should add, or drop me a line anyway! I'd love feedback, this is my first fic for this pairing/fandom.
> 
> (This is also not a coffee-shop AU. I guess I just think coffee is really important. This line was accidentally written in, and then when I was re-reading/editing, I realized that it was from Rent, and decided to stick with it. Not a Rent reference, really, though, and I don't have anything to do with that, either.)
> 
> Also, take heart, the summary is the first few lines, but it does eventually get happier.
> 
> For safety: I don't own anything from the show and am not writing for profit. Also, this work is unbetaed, and I'm sure that it still has a mistake or two despite my best efforts and about twenty editing passes.

Stiles breaks up with Derek on a Tuesday.

It’s the hardest thing that he’s ever had to do, and he wants to get it done as soon as possible so he can go burrow into his self-hatred and stay there.

He doesn’t say that it’s not Derek, it’s him, even though it’s true.

He doesn’t say that he needs some time to work on himself, even though that’s true, as well.

He doesn’t say anything beyond, “This isn’t working,” and “I don’t think that we should be together anymore.”

Derek doesn’t say much, either. His face goes shuttered, but he doesn’t ask why, or beg Stiles to stay, or question whether Stiles had ever felt anything, or do any of the hundreds of things Stiles would probably do in his place.

He just nods, and says, “If that’s what you want.”

Stiles is almost shocked at how easy it is, until he realizes that Derek was expecting this all along, had always known that this couldn’t last for him, because nothing good ever does. That thought is almost enough to make Stiles drop to his knees and beg to be taken back, but it doesn’t happen.

Stiles just says, “Yes,” and tries not to cry.

“I love you,” Derek says, when Stiles turns to go. It’s not pleading, like he’s trying to get Stiles to stay or to reconsider. It’s resigned, quiet, because he’s so used to the good things in his life suddenly disappearing.

He just wants Stiles to hear it, so he remembers that someone cares.

Stiles knows he means it, even though he’s only said it once before. This isn’t a last effort to keep him here, this is Derek telling him the one thing in the world that’s hardest for him to say.

Stiles loves Derek, too. That’s what makes this so hard, because he loves Derek enough to keep him safe. He does love him.

But Stiles has never said it before, and he doesn’t say it now. “I’m sorry,” he says instead, and slams the door behind him before Derek can say something else devastating.

Derek will be okay, probably. He has a lot of practice handling loss.

…

He gets home without having a panic attack, but it’s a near thing.

…

Scott wants to go beat Derek up when he hears about it the next day, or at least he wants to try. He doesn’t hear Stiles telling him that he was the one who dumped Derek, not the other way around, until the sixth time, and then he still wants to go, just for the principle of the thing.

Stiles doesn’t let him, of course. He doesn’t want either Scott or Derek to get hurt, and besides, he can’t exactly let Derek get the shit clawed out of him when he did nothing wrong, just to add injury to insult.

He sends Scott home, even though it was supposed to be bi-weekly sacred bonding time, because all he wants to do is go back up to his room and cry into his pillow.

Scott had already had his moment, anyway. Stiles knows that Derek had been assaulted with at least three different variants on the ‘you hurt him, I hurt you,’ speech when they had first shared the news of their relationship, almost four months ago, and that he had remained calm and surprisingly polite through all of them. Even Lydia’s. Hers had apparently been more bloodthirsty and less well-meaning than either Scott’s or the Sheriff’s, and Derek’s willingness to sit there and take it over and over was more than any of them deserved, considering that this relationship was nobody’s business but Stiles’ and Derek’s and also that there was nobody less likely in the world to intentionally hurt Stiles than Derek was.

Stiles had never liked that speech, and he had told them all, too, that he hated the idea of someone getting punished just because a relationship didn’t happen to work out. His opinion on the subject hadn’t mattered much to his friends, apparently, because Stiles wouldn’t be surprised if Derek had received a snide word from even Allison or Isaac.

Stiles had never received any threats in return, not even a nasty text message from Cora, which seems especially unfair considering that Derek _does_ deserve someone who genuinely has his best interests at heart. Stiles had thought that that person was him, even yesterday. Even while he knowingly broke Derek’s heart.

All those threats against Derek had been useless in the end. He had been the one hurt, after all. He always is.

…

The surprising thing about Derek turns out to be that he is a _great_ boyfriend.

Stiles has to admit that after stumbling through a very awkward, “I really like you and I think we should try this,” and being surprised to have Derek agree, after a toe-curling first kiss and an actual smile, he is expecting Derek to be his usual terse self about ninety-nine percent of the time.

But Derek turns out to be the type of boyfriend who brings Stiles cups of coffee after school and always makes about three times too much at his own place so that Stiles will always have some to warm up—even though Derek himself rarely drinks coffee after 10 o’clock in the morning—just because he knows how seriously Stiles takes his caffeine intake. The type that rubs Stiles neck when he’s been studying for hours, and listens to him drone on without once interrupting him. The type that kisses him on the cheek, soft and sweet, instead of ever saying goodbye. The type that lends Stiles that leather jacket when Stiles doesn’t plan for the weather and even two flannels don’t seem to do the job.

No one is more surprised than Stiles.

Stiles doesn’t know whether it’s something that Derek thinks that he ought to be doing, or if he’s a closet romantic, or if it’s some attempt to make up for everything both in their own past relationship and in his other ones, or if he just really likes Stiles. Maybe it’s some combination of these things.

But Stiles is the one who picks the movies, and the restaurants, and anything else he wants to do.

It’s not to say that Derek isn’t fucked up, or that Stiles isn’t fucked up, or that sometimes one or both of them don’t still fuck up. But Derek tries so damn hard to keep Stiles happy that none of that really seems to matter, most of the time.

Stiles doesn’t know why he ever thinks of it, whether it’s one too many unreciprocated surprises or a day when he doesn’t notice how stressed Derek looked until after the fact or the first time Derek says “I love you,” the same night, three months in, that he tells Stiles every unbearable detail of his relationship with Kate Argent and just why he feels so responsible for his family’s deaths. But Stiles suddenly can’t deny that, despite all Derek does for Stiles, he doesn’t get much in return.

It’s been three months, and Stiles has never done some small nice thing for him, just for the hell of it, has rarely initiated contact without immediately pushing things in the direction of the (admittedly fantastic) sex they have recently started having, has certainly never told Derek how he feels again after the day they got together. He just figures that Derek knows. Stiles is still there, after all, still in this relationship, which he wouldn’t be, if he didn’t like Derek.

Stiles doesn’t even like to have romantic sex, that much, prefers it hard and fast and dirty and doesn’t feel the need to whisper sweet nothings during, despite all the times that Derek has tried to slow it down and take his time and tell Stiles that he’s beautiful.

It seems unfair, that Stiles doesn’t give him that.

So he tries, or at least he plans to. But the day that Stiles is planning to stop on the way after school to pick up Derek’s favorite pastry is the same day of his huge Chemistry midterm, and the same day that Derek drops by the school to take him to lunch to celebrate his being done studying for it.

And that’s it, really. Stiles will never be that good for Derek, not like Derek is for him. He’s just some scrawny, bumbling high school boy, anyway, and with the way he looks, even despite his admittedly _difficult_ personality, Derek will find someone new in no time. Someone who can really treat him right.

Derek deserves that.

Stiles thinks about it for two more weeks, and is spoiled rotten for the duration. Derek gives him a _foot rub_ one night, just because he made some dumb, offhand comment about breaking in new lacrosse cleats.

He almost tells Scott what he’s about to do, but even though Scott has never liked Derek all that much, and has only recently come to grudgingly accept their relationship, he would probably discourage Stiles from doing something as stupid as throwing away the best thing he’s ever had. Scott’s a ‘hold on to love at all costs,’ kind of man. But this is more complicated than that.

Maybe Stiles can’t be the best boyfriend day to day, but he can at least set Derek free to find someone better for him.

All Stiles wants is for Derek to be happy. And maybe the fact that he’s willing to do this for Derek proves that he does love him, after all.

…

“I always thought that Derek would be bad for you,” his dad says on Thursday, which is day three of him coming home from his shift to find Stiles in bed. It’s not like he hasn’t left his room _._ He’s still going to school, of course. It’s hard to get in the car every day, hard to peel himself up from the sheets where he truly wants to be, and he collapses there again as soon as he gets home.

But his dad’s not being fair to Derek; Stiles has done this to himself. He had started this, and he had ended this. He feels kind of guilty wallowing here like the wronged party, but not guilty enough to pretend that he’s not devastated.

“Derek was the best for me,” he tells his pillow. He doesn’t know if his dad can hear him, and he doesn’t care. He’s telling himself, more than anyone. He’ll never quite manage Derek’s level of masochism, but there’s nothing preventing him from trying. “I was never good for him.”

…

Stiles almost says it back, the first time that Derek tells him.

He has to admit, he always thought that he would have been the one to say it first. Derek goes and surprises him, saying “I love you,” like that, and by the time Stiles recovers, his moment has passed, too late to say it back.

Derek had just said it to Kate for the first time, the day before she burned his family alive. That’s what he’s telling Stiles when it happens: “I said it then because I thought that I was supposed to,” Derek whispers into Stiles’ neck in the dark, “but I mean it this time. I love you.”

And Stiles knows that it isn’t an easy thing for him to say.

Maybe it’s because Derek has a hard time saying the words that he always tries to say it in other ways. Stiles has known what every cup of coffee, what every action movie, what every kiss or brush of the fingers means. It has all been, in the only way Derek knows how to say it, an ‘I love you.’

Stiles has never said it. Not out loud, and not in cups of coffee. That thought twists his stomach.

…

He skips the pack meeting on Friday, a little because he’s a coward and a lot because he still spends all the time he can in bed. It’s supposed to be a mandatory meeting, one they hold every week, but Scott won’t expect him, not today. Derek will be there, of course, because he’s trying so hard to make this pack work, because he thinks that if he messes up this third pack that he will never have another chance, and he’s probably right. Scott’s fooling nobody with this Alpha thing, either, and there’s nobody under the illusion that he doesn’t need Derek desperately except for maybe Derek himself.

Everyone else will awkwardly avoid any mention of Stiles, probably, and figure that Derek won’t need anything from them. But they’ll be wrong.

…

It takes a full month for Stiles to convince Derek to touch him below the belt.

He feels desperate for it, like he’s been ready since he first kissed Derek, and by the time that month is up, he’s ready to scream every time Derek pulls back.

He does everything he can think of, tells Derek there’s no way his dad will be finding out about the inconvenient underage aspect of their relationship, begs him, bribes him, threatens him.

They finally graduate to mutual hand jobs, and Stiles is so frustrated when Derek keeps pulling back to ask if he’s okay that he almost has to stop everything then and there to bitch him out and storm out of the loft. But Derek’s hand finally on him outweighs his sudden need for a dramatic fit.

He doesn’t understand until later, until he hears about Kate, why Derek had always been so worried about Stiles’ age, why he was so fastidious about having consent, even for something seemingly as trivial as biting gently at his collarbone.

He certainly doesn’t think to ask if everything _he_ tries in bed is okay.

…

By Sunday, he’s coming down for meals again. His dad keeps asking him if he wants anything, and Stiles wishes that he would stop.

All he wants is Derek, but he can’t have that, so instead he indulges in self-pity for a while, and then lets Scott come over and pretend to let Stiles win at a slew of violent video games.

He doesn’t feel any better, when Scott asks him afterwards, but he lies, and Scott wants Stiles to be okay so badly that he pretends to believe him.

…

The first time they have sex, it’s like Derek’s following some manual on how to properly de-virgin-ize his underage boyfriend.

Everything’s slow, and undeniably sweet, and Derek works him up to three fingers over what feels to Stiles like _hours_ before he even thinks about rolling on the condom, which he insists they use even though Stiles is a virgin and Derek is a werewolf and can’t carry anything.

He lays Stiles out on his back and kisses every part of Stiles he can reach, and whispers praise to him the whole time, and generally makes Stiles feel like it’s prom night. There aren’t any candles and there isn’t any mood music, but the intent is there. It’s _so_ intentional that Stiles actually feels a bit awkward the whole time, but Derek doesn’t rush for anything, not even when Stiles begs, or laughs, or finally barks, “Will you just fuck me, already?”

As far as first times go, it’s probably the best he could have hoped for. Nothing hurts—Derek’s pulling pain from him so intently that Stiles has to tell him to stop, because he’s starting to feel almost loopy, like he’s on some heavy painkillers, after which Derek pulls his hands away so fast that he almost smacks himself in the chest and then glares down at them, angry for not having known to stop before Stiles told him to—and it actually feels pretty fucking phenomenal after a little experimentation, even if Derek never does go as fast as Stiles wants him to. Stiles comes, in the end, so he doesn’t see that there’s really anything to complain about.   

…

It’s a week after they break up, to the day, when Stiles sees the wolf outside his window.

It’s not exactly an unusual occurrence for him, but this is not Derek, and it’s not Scott, and it’s not even Isaac. This wolf has tattered clothes and matted hair and his eyes glow feral and gold even though it’s a waning gibbous tonight and only 7 o’clock and the sun has barely set.

Stiles doesn’t know why this omega is here, on his lawn—whether he’s here because he can smell all the wolves that have been here before or if this is just some giant cosmic joke. He suspects the former, if only because he thinks that even a half crazed omega would be more careful about hiding his claws and the fur on his face if he wasn’t sure that whoever lived here already knew what he was. Besides, there’s that whole thing his dad always says about coincidences.

Stiles has his phone to his ear and it’s ringing before he even realizes what he’s done. He abruptly hangs up, before Derek can answer, before Stiles can come ask him to get himself hurt for Stiles, once again.

Derek would come for him, even now. Would do anything he asked. And that’s why Stiles can’t ask it.

So instead, he calls Scott. He probably should have done that first, anyway, since Scott’s the Alpha now and there’s a certain protocol for this sort of thing. That might even have been his first instinct, a year ago, but even if Scott did pick up his phone, experience has taught Stiles that he would have no idea what to do, either, and that Scott’s first call would be to Derek anyway.

Scott doesn’t pick up, but Stiles leaves a frantic message, and slams his window shut, and lines every entry to the house in mountain ash.

…

Stiles convinces Derek to fuck him, truly fuck him, after that first time.

It takes some doing, but Stiles has enough of a thing for the way Derek’s muscles ripple when he’s doing, well, anything, really, and for the way that he used to be manhandled up against walls by those very muscles that it’s definitely worth all the extra time he spends telling Derek that he won’t be hurt, and that, yes, he’ll say something if he wants it to stop.

Even once Derek is inside him, sans condom this time, which Stiles considers to be another victory, Stiles has to keep pulling at him, telling him to go faster, and it takes Stiles digging his heel into Derek’s ass and _pulling_ him down into Stiles, snapping, “Just fuck me!” For Derek to truly let go like Stiles wants, and he does sort of ruin the hate-sex vibe Stiles is trying to rock by telling Stiles he’s beautiful right before he makes him come, but that’s a minor flaw in some otherwise fantastic sex, and certainly something that Stiles is willing to work on.

Practice makes perfect, after all.

They do it Stiles’ way, usually, after that. It takes less and less convincing for Derek to just go along with it, especially after one memorable occasion during which Stiles flips them over and rides him hard and fast, just the way he wants, or the time that Stiles tells him that he’s fucking a werewolf for a reason. That seems to help Derek tap into his dominant side a bit more, and Stiles gets flipped onto his knees and properly mounted, which is exactly what he was going for, and he’s getting it hard and rough pretty much whenever he wants, so he’s happy.

It doesn’t really take him long to realize that all he has to do is ask, and Derek will give it to him, even if he puts up a token fight first. That’s how he gets Derek to rim him for the first time, though Derek seems to enjoy that one at least as much as Stiles, and Stiles has no problem reciprocating, either. It’s kind of a weird, heady feeling to know that Derek wants to make him happy badly enough that he’ll do pretty much anything.

He lets Derek screw him slowly sometimes—he thinks Derek would probably call it ‘making love,’ if Stiles asks him, which he doesn’t—but Stiles is definitely guilty of telling Derek to just get on with it so that he can finish and go to sleep on more than one occasion.

Orgasms are orgasms: they’re kind of the point of sex, as far as Stiles is concerned, and the quicker that happens, the better. Not only because the quicker that happens, the more likely Stiles is to be able to go again, either.

…

Stiles gets the call on a Thursday.

It’s been more than a week, and he feels just as shitty as he did the night it happened, but it’s not really acceptable to mope around for this amount of time after he himself broke off a relationship that frankly hadn’t lasted that long anyway, so he’s doing his best to function like a normal human being. It’s not going that well. He wonders how Derek is doing. He’s guessing not bad, considering, and he knows Derek pretty well. The thought that Derek’s probably going to the grocery store and wearing normal clothes and otherwise _dealing_ really doesn’t help.

So he’s trying, but Derek’s name suddenly popping up on his Caller ID after a week of radio silence almost gives him a heart attack. Not that he blames Derek, obviously. He hasn’t been in contact, either, even when he’s been desperate to talk to Derek. He thought he should give him some space.

He doesn’t even have a chance to say hello when he answers before Derek’s saying, “It’s the omega, he’s in the preserve. Get Allison, get here right now.” He sounds harried and a little breathless, which means that he’s in the vicinity of a fight, which is just how Stiles’ life goes, really.

“Okay,” Stiles says, already gathering up the bag where he keeps his monster fighting supplies packed up and ready. He wants to ask how Derek is, but this is not the time. “Where’s Scott?”

“He’s here, with Isaac, they’re holding him off, for now,” Derek says. It sounds like he’s maybe running, trying to get to where Scott and the omega are. “I’m sorry I had to be the one to call you.”

Which isn’t what Stiles had meant at all. He’d mostly wanted to know if tonight was one of the nights Scott was deigning to pick up his phone—if he was there with Derek, or if Stiles should go bang on his door. “It’s okay,” Stiles says, but it probably comes out less gently than he intends it to, because he’s trying to juggle his bag and his phone and unlock his jeep all at the same time. “Give me fifteen minutes,” Stiles says, and hangs up to call Allison, peeling out of his driveway.

He knows when Derek finds the omega. He can hear him howl, even through the rolled up windows and over the engine noise of his jeep.

…

It’s not hard to find them immediately, even in the woods. Stiles could hear them fighting before he parked the jeep as closely to the tree line as he could, and it takes him three minutes flat to run through the trees to the small clearing where Scott had apparently cornered the omega.

Scott tends to be pretty laissez-faire about all of these supernatural creatures, very into peaceful negotiation, and if he’s fighting this omega, it probably means that he not only didn’t listen when Scott asked him nicely to evacuate this territory but also took a swipe at him in the meantime.

By the time Stiles skids to a stop, all hell has broken loose.

Scott’s crumpled in an unmoving heap at the bottom of a tree, and Isaac’s limping back into the clearing from where he’s apparently been thrown, hobbling along on a clearly broken leg. Derek’s circling the omega in the center of the clearing, shirtless and snapping his teeth threateningly.

The omega snaps his head around to Stiles, baring bloodstained fangs in a horrifying parody of a grin, and he’s moving forward before Stiles can take another breath, much less liberate one of the weapons he’s been stupid enough to _zip inside the bag._

But Derek’s on the omega before he can take so much as a second step, tackling and rolling and coming up on top, between Stiles and the omega.

The way the omega swipes at Derek looks almost careless, but his hand comes away dripping and Derek hisses as the skin on his shoulder is carved open. His returning blow is nothing but raw power, and the omega yowls as his hamstring is severed. It’s less dramatic than Derek’s usual style, but it’s effective.

Stiles runs to Scott (because he’s certainly not equipped or qualified to join in here, so it’s all he can really do), who is breathing steadily, though his eyes aren’t open. Stiles finds it hard to believe that the omega isn’t tearing out Scott’s throat, since he’s down and so vulnerable, but he would put money on the fact that Derek stepped into the fight after Scott was thrown headfirst into a tree to protect his Alpha, like he just protected Stiles.

Stiles is shaking Scott’s shoulder when it happens, and he sees nothing, and hears only Derek’s pained bellow. By the time he turns, the omega’s throat is a spray of red where Derek’s clawed hand is buried, and he falls with a gurgle, and Derek falls after him, catching himself on one bloodied hand, his other hand pressed hard to his stomach where something seems to be trying to slip through his fingers.

Stiles thinks he’s going to be sick or pass out, because he’s pretty sure those bits of Derek belong on the _inside_ of him, and he’s seen a lot in the past few years, but nothing quite like this. But he’s not the one trying to hold himself together, he’s not covered in blood, so he really has no right to be sick.

Instead, he slaps Scott awake.

Scott looks momentarily disappointed to have missed the fight, but he’s distracted when Allison bursts into the clearing minutes too late, wielding a notched bow, so it’s Stiles that stands and rushes towards Derek, who’s painstakingly rolling himself one-handed onto his back and off the corpse of his opponent.

Or at least he tries, before Derek flinches back, away from him.

“Oh my God, Derek,” Stiles says dumbly, since what he wants to ask, ‘are you alright,’ would be even stupider considering that he can see for a fact that Derek is clearly not okay.   

“It’ll heal,” Derek grits out as he holds his innards where they belong, “It always does.”

His teeth are bared, but they are teeth, not fangs, and his eyes don’t glow blue. Not for the first time, Stiles marvels at his control, and not for the first time, Stiles wants to kneel beside him, let Derek’s head fall back on his shoulder, stroke his hair and give him some minimal comfort. He wants to take that pain into himself like Derek’s done for Stiles over and over, when he does something as stupid as trip up the stairs, or after Derek grudgingly fucks him as hard as he insists that he wants to be fucked. He can’t do that, though, and he doesn’t think he’s allowed to touch Derek anymore, either way.

So he stands helplessly by, instead, hands shoved deep in pockets, and watches Isaac’s veins run black as he pulls some agony from Derek, watches Scott’s hands replace Derek’s in the mess and blood around his middle and say something quiet that makes Derek’s face a little less tense.

It will heal, after all—but that doesn’t mean that it won’t hurt in the meantime.

…

Stiles drives Scott home after Isaac says he’ll drive Derek back to his loft, and Stiles finally breaks down and tells Scott what happened, what _really_ happened, beyond ‘we broke up and no, it wasn’t Derek’s fault.’ It’s hard to resist Scott when he’s saying, “But I don’t understand why you did it, you still love him, I can tell by the way you looked at him back there, how scared you were for him,” and looking all confused with those huge brown eyes.

And Stiles can’t deny that it would be nice to have a second opinion, or some advice from somebody who’s even a touch less inept than Stiles apparently is when it comes to romantic relationships. He had been so confident that he had been doing the right thing last week, as hard as it had been, had been so sure that setting Derek free was best for Derek. Isn’t that what you’re supposed to do with the things you love? But now Stiles remembers that there’s a second part to that—the part about the things you love coming back.

And Derek had come back for him, in his own way, had just saved Stiles’ life yet again. But he had also flinched as if Stiles was holding a gas can and a match when he’d tried to approach.

So he tells Scott, tells him how _good_ Derek was, how Stiles had never given him anything back. How he seemed to be the only one gaining in their relationship, while Derek was the one giving.

Scott, of course, takes Stiles’ side, and there’s some truth to what he says, maybe, about Derek needing to communicate more, but Stiles also knows how hard Derek’s been working on that, how hard it was for him, at the beginning, to ask for _anything_ , because the world had proven to him over and over that the answer was always no: when he asked for Scott’s trust when they first met, when he asked, silently and hopefully, for a new pack with three bites, when he asked for someone to care for him _._ And he was getting better at asking, so much better.

“I could never give him anything he needed in return,” Stiles says again, and Scott says, as he’s been saying for the past half hour, “He could have just asked. He could have said something.”

But Stiles thinks now that Derek was telling him the whole time, as best he could, and Stiles just never bothered to listen, which is inexcusable, really, because he _did_ know—has always known—that communication isn’t Derek’s strong suit, even though Derek really _has_ been working on it. And Stiles could always figure it out, anyway. Could know what Derek was truly saying, because asking outright for anything was so hard for him to do. And Stiles had always thought that they were okay that way, because communication was _his_ specialty.

But he had ignored every quiet suggestion of Derek’s that they go for a run or on a hike together. Had brushed off the idea that they try a new restaurant with the plea that he’d been craving a burger and fries all day. Told Derek that he’d really rather they stay home and watch _Iron Man_ for the third time than drive all the way to the theater and pay for tickets to that movie that Derek had thought looked interesting in the previews. Had even told him to hurry up when Derek had tried again and again to have sex with Stiles in a way that wasn’t so brutal, in a way that might have indicated that this _meant_ something to Derek.

He thought he knew Derek well enough to interpret his silences, but had ignored him when he did speak.

…

Stiles broods after Scott leaves, and he broods through dinner, and he broods in the dark as the clock ticks relentlessly to one, one thirty, two.

Stiles broods so well that Derek would be proud.

It had been hard for Derek, at first, this idea that he could freely give anything more than had already been ripped from him. But he had given, eventually—had pulled apart his armor, self-forged in a house fire, had torn it to shreds with wolf-sharp claws and had shown Stiles the soft, vulnerable parts hidden underneath that nobody else had seen since he was sixteen. And he had given pieces of this self to Stiles, one at a time, with every offered cup of coffee and with every shy compliment and with every ‘yes.’ Small, delicate pieces that could never be taken back.

And Stiles had walked away and taken those pieces with him, leaving Derek only a gaping hole bigger even than the one that he had started with, his protection lying shattered around his feet. And Stiles had given him so little to fill that hole with, had selfishly guarded every little piece of himself and had handed only the most trivial over. Had started with more, and had given less.

Not to say that he doesn’t suddenly feel as if he has a hole in his own life, where Derek belongs, but it’s a less obvious one, one that Scott and his father and his friends will help him patch over. Derek doesn’t have anyone to do that for him, not without Stiles. 

…

Stiles drives to the loft after the final bell rings on Friday and stands outside Derek’s front door for twenty minutes. He can’t miss another pack meeting, and he doesn’t think he can face Derek again without saying what he’s about to, and he’d rather do it in privacy. Besides, he’s been long enough without Derek.

Derek must know that Stiles is there, but he doesn’t pull open the door or text him or give any indication of it, which is good, because Stiles feels like he has to do this on his own time, under his own power.

He thinks that he had maybe made a mistake before, doing what he did. He had walked away when all that he could find wrong with his relationship were the things that he could so easily fix. And even if it wasn’t quite that simple, he’s almost ashamed of himself for giving up so easily—on Derek, who needed someone to finally stay, and on himself. He had always thought that he wasn’t a quitter.

And sure, he had also always thought that he would be a fantastic boyfriend. He’d spent hours, days, just fantasizing about the exact arrangements of flowers to give Lydia, after all, had formulated exact plans to make her realize how good he would be to her, had bought her extravagant gifts. But then, life almost never turns out the way you plan it in ninth grade. Scott’s a werewolf, and Stiles is a bad boyfriend. At least there’s a cure for his issue.

And he’s selfish enough to admit that he really, really misses Derek.

And he may stall there, guessing and second guessing his decision and then _praying_ that he hasn’t fucked up badly enough that Derek might throw him out on his ass the moment he lays eyes on Stiles, though he hasn’t touched him like that in a year, but he does eventually raise a fist and knock. Sort of quietly, yes, but then, Derek can totally hear it anyway.

It takes him a few seconds to get to the door, and Stiles appreciates him maintaining the illusion that he’s just some normal guy who was probably chilling on the couch when a visitor took him by surprise rather than a werewolf who’s probably been listening to the gears in Stiles’ brain clunk along for nearly a half hour.

Derek doesn’t look murderous when he pulls the door open, which is a good first sign.

“Hi,” Stiles says, and it’s a little embarrassing that his voice sounds so weak and breathy.

“Hi,” Derek says, and takes a step back from the door so that Stiles knows he’s welcome to come in.

“How are you?” Stiles asks, and he’s referring both to how Derek’s dealing with _them_ or the lack thereof and also how he’s dealing with recently having some very vital organs in less than desirable locations outside of his body. He’s standing, at least, which most people wouldn’t be doing a day after they were nearly disemboweled, and he doesn’t even look too pale. The answer to both of these questions should rightfully be, ‘pretty shitty, thanks,’ either way, but even if Derek was ever likely to say something like that, he doesn’t now.

“I’m fine,” He says neutrally instead. He looks like he’s about to ask Stiles if he wants something to drink or say something else hideously mundane, or, worse, ask Stiles why he’s here.

“I made a terrible mistake,” Stiles blurts out before any of this can happen.

“Why, what happened?” Derek asks, looking suddenly concerned. He probably thinks that Stiles means he accidentally cast a spell, or left Scott in pieces in the woods, or something.

“Nothing happened, I mean how I… I mean, with us.”

Derek’s face goes sort of neutrally calm, again, and he doesn’t say a word.

“I was really unfair to you, and the more I think about it the worse it seems, and besides, I really miss you, Derek, and I can’t believe I ever did anything so stupid. I know it’s not fair to do this to you, and you don’t have to say yes. You shouldn’t, maybe. But I needed to tell you that nothing’s changed for me, except my mind about how stupid I was before, and if you still want this, I’ll be here. For real, this time.”

Derek searches his face, carefully. He’s maybe hoping to find the answers he’s looking for there, to know whether Stiles is being sincere, to know whether he can trust him again. Stiles hopes he looks honest, because he knows that Derek didn’t hear a lie.

He has to admit, as hard as this week has been for him and probably Derek, too, he almost wants Derek to say no, just a little. He wants to know that Derek will protect himself against someone like Stiles, who has hurt him again and again and will probably hurt him in the future. That he values his own feelings and even his own dignity enough to turn Stiles down.

But Derek says yes, after a few more moments. He says, “Of course,” like Stiles should know that he only has to ever ask to have what he wants. Stiles knows Derek’s not just saying yes out of obligation, or sentiment, knows Derek well enough to know that as much as he loves Stiles, he wouldn’t do anything he truly didn’t want to do, but he also knows that Derek knows it’s what Stiles wants, to hear yes, and he cares more about Stiles than himself. It’s why he didn’t put up a fight when Stiles walked out, either.

…

They do end up skipping the meeting, after all, but it’s okay because Stiles sends Scott a _Just got back together with Derek, need some time to talk, can’t make it to the meeting, sorry_ text and then turns off his phone so Scott can’t call and argue.

Stiles lets Derek hold him for a while, lets Derek scent him like he must be dying to, and Stiles can’t seem to wipe a goofy grin off his face.

They have sex later, the way Derek prefers, slow and sweet and _so good_ that Stiles thinks that this could become something he prefers, too.

He feels stranger afterwards than he’s ever felt before, dazed and weepy enough that he thinks he might actually cry if Derek left him now. He doesn’t; he holds Stiles so closely that it should be suffocating, but Stiles can’t get close enough, pulls Derek in with arms and legs and nuzzles into his neck and chest like he would climb inside and fill all Derek’s empty places with himself if he could.

He doesn’t know exactly how long he lays there, feeling shell-shocked and clinging to Derek, before Derek says, “I’ll be better, this time. I’ll make it so good for you.”

Stiles heart breaks all over again.

“You’re perfect,” he tells Derek’s collarbone, and then pulls back and says it matter-of-fact to his face. “Don’t say that. You’re always so perfect for me.”

Derek wears the same expression he had worn when Stiles told him his feelings when they first got together: open, confused, and a little distrusting, because he can’t believe that anything like this could ever happen to him.

Stiles won’t have that. He puts his ear over Derek’s heart, so he can hear it beating like Derek can always hear his, and says, “You’re wonderful,” and sleeps before Derek can disagree.

…

It’s not like things are perfect right away. Derek’s not perfect, despite recent protestations to the contrary, and Stiles is certainly not.

But things are good. Like they were before, maybe better. Stiles doesn’t keep all the promises he silently made to himself when he acknowledged that they were better off together, but he’s making progress.

He’s trying to get Derek to ask for things, now and then, to tell Stiles what he wants, but he doesn’t want Derek to feel like Stiles is criticizing him for something. He knows how hard it is for him, and he doesn’t expect more than he knows Derek can reasonably give. He won’t set them up for that failure, not this time. Nobody could accuse Derek of not trying hard enough in this relationship, anyway.

“I think I might find a therapist,” Derek tells him one night, pliant across Stiles’ chest like he always is when Stiles is running fingers through his thick, dark hair.

Which, okay, is definitely a good idea, and probably one that should have happened years ago. But… “I don’t think you should do that for me,” Stiles says. Because he can’t force Derek to open wounds he’s not ready to probe at, if he’s only under the illusion that it’s something Stiles needs from him to preserve their already comparatively functional relationship. And for all the times Stiles has thought over the years that seeing a shrink should be very high on Derek’s list of things to do to regain the ability to function like a normal human, it feels sort of hypocritical to force Derek to sit on a couch and tell a total stranger all of his deepest secrets when therapy had never seemed to do much for Stiles, not during his brief stint with Ms. Morrell and not during the sessions that had been mandatory—at least according to his dad—after his mom had died.

“Of course I’m doing it for you,” Derek says, “But I’m also doing it for the pack. And I’m… I think I’m doing it for me, too. A little.”

He avoids eye contact, and Stiles tries very hard to keep himself calm and keep his fingers soothing in Derek’s hair, even when he wants to shout and jump around and punch the air in triumph, because this is _huge,_ Derek even thinking about helping himself, but he’ll shut down if Stiles makes some big deal out of it, draws attention to that.

“That sounds great,” Stiles tells him warmly, even though his eyes are burning like he might cry. He’s just having a lot of feelings, and he’s actually never been very good at handling those. He can feel Derek smile softly, and give a relieved exhale.

So Derek goes to therapy, and they never talk about his sessions. Derek doesn’t really seem to change, much, at least not immediately, and some days are bad, and some days he skips appointments and looks defiantly at Stiles like he might say something about it, but Stiles isn’t his keeper and doesn’t want to push Derek about something so deeply personal, so he tries to just be supportive when it comes up and otherwise keep his nose out of it, which is harder for him than it should be. Overall, though, Derek goes fairly consistently, which is a pretty fucking big deal all by itself and makes Stiles so proud that he doesn’t know what to do with himself.

…

Derek asks him if they can go on a hike on Saturday, and Stiles almost says no.

He’s been planning to catch up with Scott and his dad, to take a break from homework and maybe sleep in. A whole day with Derek is never _bad,_ obviously, and happens less often than Stiles would like, since he has to go to school every day, but the temptation to steal the whole day for himself is so great that he barely catches the no before it leaves his mouth automatically and instead says “Saturday?” Sort of contemplatively, like he’s thinking he might have something pressing on his calendar, even though he never does.

“I was thinking I could show you this little lake I know about,” Derek says, and he looks at his hands, folded on the kitchen counter as he leans there and watches Stiles work through his calculus, “It’s in the preserve, but not too far. It’s more of a pond, actually. It… it used to be one of Laura’s favorite places to go, and I haven’t been back there in a while. I thought you might like to see it.”

His voice sounds both hopeful and guarded, like he wants Stiles to say yes more than he’s letting on but is also about ninety percent sure that the answer will be no.

Stiles doesn’t know if this is some sort of exercise his therapist assigned, or if Derek just wants to share this with him, but there’s no hiding how important Derek thinks it is.

Scott and his dad will both be there Sunday.

“Yes,” Stiles says, like that’s the only answer there is.

“Really?” Derek says, finally raising his head to catch Stiles’ eyes, and the expression he wears is so surprised that it hurts to look at.

“Yes, of course,” Stiles says, and walks around the counter to kiss him.

Stiles will tell him yes, over and over, until he knows that he’s allowed to ask in something louder than a hushed, cautious voice that implies that Derek hopes the universe won’t overhear.

…

He doesn’t say it when they get back together, but then, neither does Derek.

He thinks about writing it on one of the coffee cups he sometimes surprises Derek with, when he has a hard day, but decides against it. He doesn’t want Derek to mistake it for a messy barista scrawl of a name and order. Derek deserves to hear it, besides, to have it said to his face genuine and truthful.

He doesn’t want to say it when they’re having sex, or when they’ve been fighting, or any other time when it might not be seen to count, when it might be misunderstood as having ulterior motive.

Not the first time.

Stiles means it, and he needs Derek to know how sincere he is, this time around.

It’s a Tuesday, and they’re in the car. Derek is driving, because he likes that one small measure of control, and because the grinding of the gears in the jeep hurt his sensitive ears, especially since last week, when something started rattling under the hood. They’re going to see a movie that Stiles picked out, and Stiles is going to buy them the biggest size of popcorn and sneak in a pack of the chocolate candy that Derek will never admit a weakness for.

They stop at a red light, and Stiles looks over. Derek’s mouth is relaxed, his eyes flickering electric in the streetlights.

“Hey,” Stiles says, no louder than a whisper. Derek hears him, of course. He always does. He catches Stiles’ eyes. “I love you,” Stiles tells him. He doesn’t feel scared. His voice is strong and confident, because he knows that what he’s saying is true, beyond a shadow of a doubt. He doesn’t hesitate, or stammer, or qualify. He doesn’t need to repeat himself.

Derek’s eyes go soft and vulnerable, his mouth a little slack. He doesn’t quite believe it yet, but that’s okay. Stiles will say it again, until Derek believes it’s true, and believes he’s worth it.

Derek ignores the light when it changes to green. There’s no one behind them, anyway. He lifts his hand from the gearshift and takes Stiles’, and his fingers are strong and capable. He smiles a fond smile, one that crinkles his eyes and softens his face and steals Stiles’ breath, because that smile is new to him. He wants to see it again, though, wants to know it as intimately as he knows every other part of Derek.

That smile says ‘I love you,’ and so does the squeeze of his hand.

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is about six thousand words longer than it was originally supposed to be. Whoops.
> 
> So as shocking as this may sound, the idea for this happened originally because I was having some major Derek feels and needed so badly for him to just be loved and cherished. Of course, this sort of evolved without my consent, so it didn't really end up like that? The other thought that I initially had was about all the fic I've read for this pairing (sooooooooo much) where Derek is so bad at everything and Stiles is wise and perfect and Derek screws everything up while Stiles is wise and perfect. And I actually hate the failwolf thing so much like honestly even though I can acknowledge that Derek is obviously not perfect, and I love Stiles, but he definitely has his own complexes/problems that I think are really often overlooked because people just love his character so much, so I wanted to see what would happen if I kind of tried to turn that trend upside down? I don't know how effective that ended up being.
> 
> Please do let me know if you liked it or have constructive criticism, especially since I'm working on a few other things for this pairing (IT'S TAKEN OVER MY WHOLE LIFE UGHHHHH) that I can hopefully publish before the year 3000. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!
> 
> I recently made a (still v. small) tumblr @ http://iddaywrites.tumblr.com/ so if you don't mind the fact that I'm still very bad at keeping it going, come chat with me about my writing, inspiration, ongoing stories, and other Stereky stuff/Derek feels.
> 
> Just made a [tumblr](http://iddayidnight.tumblr.com/) if that's your thing!


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